Rendezvous

After Liu Jun calmly, precisely, and thoroughly described how he had shot down three enemy aircraft, Song Xizhu looked at the papers before her. Most of the questions had already been answered in his account; only a few details remained to be clarified.

Song Xizhu adjusted her gold-rimmed glasses, memorized the questions she needed to ask, then looked at Liu Jun and spoke in an inquiring tone. Although her rank was higher than Liu Jun's, rank was bestowed by the people, not something to be proud of.

"Comrade Liu Jun, I have three questions for you."

"Please."

"First, during the pass, the enemy launched an attack and No. 140 was damaged. Why did you evade in advance?"

"I sensed danger," Liu Jun answered honestly.

It sounded rather mystical, but everyone believed him. Human intuition did exist, though science had yet to provide an explanation convincing to everyone.

"Second, why weren't you visually deceived by the unidentified aircraft?"

"Intuition again. They looked wrong to me, and during the engagement, I determined they were probably optical decoys."

"Intuition."

Song Xizhu nodded and wrote the two words, "intuition," on the paper, then added some of her own conjectures.

"Last question. How did you accurately determine their positions?"

This was very important. Seeing through optical decoys was nothing unusual; the other two J-15S fighters had also discovered the decoys. But how had he located the real targets? Any experience worth learning from would be invaluable.

"Intuition again. I can't describe it."

Liu Jun once again answered honestly. He simply "knew" the targets were there. Extrasensory perception? Supernatural ability? Qigong? Even he could not explain that feeling.

"Mm, all right. I have no more questions."

The lieutenant colonel looked at Song Xizhu. Seeing that she had nothing further to ask, he drained the water in his cup and stood up.

"Sorry to have disturbed you."

"Not at all. You've had it hard too." It was not mere politeness—they truly had suffered greatly.

Zhang Peng and Liu Jun stood and followed the two out of the compartment.

"Thank you for saving the 815A! Goodbye! If you ever have time to visit us, we'll make sure you try our local specialties."

The lieutenant colonel and Song Xizhu looked at the two men, gave them a solemn military salute, then turned and hurried away. They had to return home without delay.

After watching them leave, Zhang Peng turned to his apprentice and smiled with satisfaction. The kid even knew to give him a way out. That recording would definitely be studied once they returned, and Liu Jun had now made a name for himself with the higher-ups. His rank would surely rise by one grade, but that was only superficial. Having endured the test of battle, he had proven his oath before the national flag, the Party flag, and the military flag. His future path of promotion would be smooth.

"You've made something of yourself, kid."

"Oh," Liu Jun replied calmly.

"Not excited at all?" Zhang Peng looked at his apprentice, who seemed uninterested in promotion.

"Serve the people!"

"Come on! Let's eat!"

As the two headed toward the mess hall, the lieutenant colonel led the technicians into the prepared Z-8. Its rotors churned the air, and the Z-8's landing gear slowly lifted from the deck. Once airborne, the pilot adjusted the blade pitch and flew toward the Shandong.

After the Z-8 flew off, two J-15s carrying external fuel tanks escorted it from high altitude.

Inside the cabin, Song Xizhu wore headphones to protect her hearing. The helicopter's turboshaft engines were still extremely loud. She lowered her head and organized the notes in her hands.

"Professor, have something to eat."

Colonel Wang handed her a compressed biscuit and a bottle of mineral water, then distributed biscuits and water to the other technicians. They did not have time to sit down for a hot meal.

"Thank you."

The Z-8 did not have the range to fly directly back home from the Western Pacific, but it could leapfrog its way there. Behind the Liaoning, the Shandong was approaching, and behind the Shandong was a dock landing ship. Those vessels would serve as the leapfrog points.

The aircraft would stop, but the people would not; they would switch aircraft without changing personnel. On the Shandong, a prepared helicopter waited for them to land. After taking care of their biological needs—using the restroom—they would take off immediately.

Opening the compressed biscuit package, Song Xizhu took a bite. The texture was far from pleasant, and the biscuit immediately soaked up the moisture in her mouth. She took a sip of water and swallowed it, only then feeling her throat ease considerably before continuing to eat.

After eating one compressed biscuit, Song Xizhu already felt full. She set down the mineral water and focused on writing down her speculations and views regarding the unidentified aircraft in her notebook.

The J-15s responsible for escorting them returned, replaced by two J-15Ts from the Shandong.

During the tedious flight, Song Xizhu organized her notes. After returning, she intended to give them to her teacher, an academician in Great East. He would surely be very interested in these aircraft. Colonel Wang's case also contained fragments of the aircraft wreckage.

She put down her notes, stretched her aching neck, and turned to look through the porthole. Another steel beast of the sea came into view.

At the same time, on the Liaoning's accompanying 052D destroyer's surface-search radar, targets identified by IFF Identification as the 815A and the Charles de Gaulle slowly entered the carrier's defensive perimeter.

Under Great East's command, the 815A approached the Liaoning. The wounded soldiers aboard needed to be transferred immediately to the Liaoning's superior medical facilities. The Charles de Gaulle, meanwhile, was positioned fifteen nautical miles away from the Liaoning, with another accompanying vessel guarding it.

On the bridge, the captain of the Charles de Gaulle used binoculars to observe the frigate nearby. From its hull number and silhouette, he recognized the "sword-bearing guard" model—a 054A frigate.

Lowering his binoculars, the captain turned to look at the still-glowing Sky Pit overhead and said meaningfully:

"We're safe. For now."

"Mr. President, today is America's darkest day. Our Carl Vinson Carrier Strike Group has suffered catastrophic losses!"

The old man sitting in the presidential chair stared blankly at the Secretary of Defense with an Alzheimer's-like beauty.

"Where are our other carrier strike groups?"

"One is in the Middle East, one is in the Mediterranean Sea, and the rest—"

The Secretary of Defense did not finish. The remaining carriers were all undergoing maintenance in shipyards. They would not be ready for at least a year and a half.

"Don't publicize this matter. Oh, right, those movies should be taken down!"

The USA might beat up aliens all day long in Hollywood blockbusters, but when aliens truly appeared, the USA would stop talking about beating them up.

"Mr. President, we need you to make a presidential—Mr. President? Mr. President?! Doctor! Doctor!"

Before he could finish, the old man's eyes rolled back and he "fainted." He would retire in a few days anyway, so there was nothing wrong with pretending to be sick for a few more days. It would be perfect to dump this mess on the next president.

Once he retired, let the floods rage for all he cared. Oh, right—since aliens had appeared, America's military strength had to be increased. Since the Carl Vinson Carrier Strike Group was already finished, they might as well place a huge order for two nuclear-powered aircraft carriers!

Thinking of the retirement money—kickbacks—he could receive, the old man's expression became even more vacant.